The Untold Story of C
by BeyondMalevolence
Summary: B had a friend back in Wammy's. What happened to her after the death of A, after B left? And what does she have to do with the LABB case?
1. C

(I do not own Death Note: Another Note or anythin you recognize)

( A,B- 13 C- 12 L-15) (I'm not totally sure on the ages so please bear with me and if anyone could provide the correct ages that would help oh so much)

"You're slacking C," Mr. Wammy continued to stand passively beside the large maple desk where Rodger sat lecturing me. I hung my head in shame, resisting the urge to fall asleep.

"My apologies Rodger, will try harder," my words tumbled out groggily.

"Why don't you have a rest C."

Rodger's as well as my own eyes snapped to Mr. Wammy who in turned smiled at us.

"Quill she's lacking in her studies. She's dropped…"

"Only two points and lacking in sleep. I'm sure that after her little break she will be in tip top shape."

"Thank you Mr. Wammy," I said excitedly rushing to my room collapsing on the bed.

Red eyes peered down at me, a drop of something fell on my nose.

"Go away B," I groaned attempting to turn over with him straddling me.

"You've been asleep for 22 hours, 43 minuets and 13 seconds, are you sick?"

In my panic attack I knocked B off the bed, the thud told me that he hit the floor maybe on his head. Cursing, I grabbed some clothes making a dash for my classes. Mr. Wammy was smiling at me from behind a little podium.

"I do hope you a re feeling better. Where is B?"

The said little boy appeared a minuet later holding a jar of strawberry delight. We took our seats and the lessons began.

"A don't you think you're going a bit overboard," I sadly studied the sick look on my friend. He was hunched over a large text book grasping his head in his hands. He said nothing. Watching his eyes frantically dance over the black and white pages, I sighed heavily grabbing my own book to read. It was well past midnight before I called it a night. Sympathetic eyes glanced over at A who was surrounded by a growing pile of books. 'He's going to kill himself,' I thought shaking my head. I met B on the outside. He was hunched over a jar of jam.

"Don't you think you should be studying," I questioned.

"C, we're only 10. We shouldn't conform ourselves to be a stand in for a coward hero."

I grimaced as if I had been slapped in the face.

"B don't talk like that," I said softly. He shrugged before standing. His slouch began to show even more. "We should be grateful that L took us in."

"Its all about L isn't it," his voice remained calm and curios but was laced with malice. "Just because he's a hot shot detective, doesn't mean that we, mere children, should subject…"

"That is enough Backup!"

Our heads whipped to the side capturing Rodger with our widened eyes. As he approached, I scurried off, it wanting to endure another of their famous shouting matches.

It was late before I almost drifted into deep sleep. The creaking of my door alerted me slightly. Ignoring it as probably B, I drifted to the world of my own.

The pillow was stuck to my face when I in the morning. Because they keep the mansion like a freezer, it couldn't be sweat. It smelled sweet. Strawberry sweet.

"B," I growled the letter gritting my teeth. I threw the comfortable sack of feathers against the opposite wall observing the multiple reddish pink stains. After a necessary shower, I trudged off to my classes.

"You're not allowed in my room any longer," glaring I sat across from my usual companion. He looked up from the ever present jam jar, crimson eyes full of feigned innocents.

"Why C?"

I menacingly pointed my fork at him.

"Don't give me that B. Your favorite snack thoroughly decorated my pillow!"

"Sorry about that." He looked no such thing.

"Where's A?"

"Probably in the library."

"How can you be so nonchalant about him B?" He shrugged.  
>"I think I'm going to bring him a sandwich." B rose with me, pocketing his hands in the baggy jeans he wore.<p>

"A you really should take a break," sympathy was evident in my voice as I held out the sandwich. His eyes were sunken in while a clearly unhealthy yellow shade adorned his skin. He looked disheveled and destroyed. His tired black rimmed eyes strained up at me forcing a smile that looked foreign on him and looked more like a grimace then anything.

"I'm fine, thank you C."

'What are you working so hard for anyways," B asked looking down on him arrogantly. A looked at him as if he were stupid. My exact thoughts at the moment.

"I am L's successor. We all are and we should be."

"Glad to know that someone agrees with me," I mumbled, sideways glaring at B.

"Thank you C," A said, "But I'll kindly have to ask you and B to leave."

I only nodded following my proceeding letter who took the initiative to leave as soon as the invitation was presented.

"B, we have got to do something about A," I exclaimed getting hysterical towards the end. B looked at me over his shoulder eyes half open it what was assumed to be boredom.

"The only thing I am doing is retreating to my room with a jar of jam." He left me standing in the dark corridor. Knowing that I was powerless against A alone, I trudged dejectedly to my room.

"B, C, do either you know where A is," Rodger asked.

"We last saw him in the library last night."

"He's not in there."

"Did you bother to check his room, regardless of how little he inhabits it?" I could almost smell the sarcasm radiating off B's statement. Rodger stuttered before beckoning us to accompany him. B and I side by side, stalked silently behind him. I never realized how far away As' room was until I actually ventured the distance. A large gold platted 'A' decorated the cream door, signaling its occupant. Rodger knocked swiftly, the sound echoing throughout the hallway. Thunder clapped from a distance. Rodger knocked again. Still no answer came from within the room. He jiggled the knob, discovering that it was locked. I began to worry. This wasn't A's typical behavior, even on a bad day.

"A," I shouted for him. Producing a large ring of keys, Rodger selected the correct one quickly, thrusting it into the lock. Despite the speed at which the key was turned, it seemed like forever until the door was unlocked. Harshly pushing the door open, Rodger stormed in with me closely behind. A lecture that had been pre-prepared died on his lips while as a scream welled in my throat. Hung from a think rope attached to the ceiling fan, was A. I ran from the sight and straight into B's arms. His arms encased me. I cried. B remained there, emotionless holding me. Rodger emerged later, firmly closing the door behind him. I turned to face him, tears streaming down my cheeks.

"I," he swallowed, "I will contact Mr. Wammy immediately. Children go to your rooms."

B's arms remained around me, even though it had switched to around my shoulders. He guided me silently through the dark halls. We arrived at my rook where we sat together on the bed.

"We should have done more for him," I whispered clutching his jelly stained baggy shirt.

B brought a thumb to his lips. "I think we did enough."

I looked up at him. His unusual crimson eyes shifted to my own pale blue ones then back to the plane wall across from us. I curled up closer to him. Rain splattered along the window panes, but I didn't care. I basked in the few memories of my recently deceased friend.

The day was a bleak gray, fitting for a funeral. A slight fog and mist promised rain. I clutched B's hand tightly. Willing myself not to cry at the tiny coffin before me. Rodger stood silently behind us, hands clasping our shoulders, squeezing as a sign of reassurance, most likely false. Mr. Wammy and an unidentifiable boy in black on the other side. He was completely covered by a large black umbrella. As the coffin was lowered into the deep hole, I released my bouquet of black roses and clutched the white lily I had extracted from the wooden box.

"Come children," Rodger gave us a gentle nudge, "lets go back to the mansion." His guiding hands steered us away. B laced our fingers together, squeezing gently. I looked to him for further comfort but his gaze was transfixed ahead. I hung my head and continued robotically.

B and I took refuge in my room, much like last night and cuddled on the bed. I was in the fetal position facing him. He laid flat on his back, one hand seizing me, the other one behind his head. I licked my dry lips, swallowing.

"What's going to happen B?" My voice just barely above a whisper.

"L will find another successor to replace him."

Thanks to B, my naïve eyes were opened that day. L really didn't care about us. We were at his disposal and could be replaced if we became obsolete in anyway. This was our fate. To be an Alternate, to be Backup, to be a Copy of man with an unimaginable intellect but not a sliver of human compassion.


	2. Meeting the Legend

(I do not own Death Note or anything you might recognize.)

"You have done well C," Rodger gloated from the comfort of his plush leather chair. I pushed a stand of fine ivory hair behind a petite ear. "You have surpassed A and B." I winced at the mentioned names. "You are our most successful project yet." Keeping the malice at bay, I gave a curt nod. 'Therefore you will be released from Wammy House and placed into the care of Mr. Wammy himself." His eyes scanned me for any sign of emotion most likely shock or gratitude. Of these, I felt neither, none. "You leave tomorrow at 8 o'clock for Japan."

"Yes sir."

He said nothing more, his own sign of dismissal. I stalked out of the blasted room to prepare for the trip ahead.

The jelly stained pillow mocked me from my immaculate bed. Grabbing the offending thing, I held it close to me inhaling. It still smelled of B and his infamous jam. Clutching the obscene item close, I sat mechanically with one leg pulled close to me sobbing. I became the very thing that drove a friend to suicide and another to flee 6 years ago. I became L's copy.

(A/N: C- 18 B-19 L-21)

The plane right went smoothly, landing in beautiful Japan right on time. An old man in an expensive suit, polished shoes and a well trimmed moustache held a sign that said my alias. I smiled at Mr. Wammy and felt underdressed in my oversized long sleeved black shirt baggy washed out jeans and weatherworn converse.

"I am Cadence."

He smiled welcomingly. "Wonderful to see you again Cadence. But please come, we do not a large amount of time to fully exchange pleasantries."

Taking my little black bag in a firm grasp, we weaved our way through the throng of people clustered about. He placed my little black bags in the back of a forest green Rolls Royce. I climbed into the passengers seat and stared ahead at the passing road.

We arrived at a beautiful and expensive looking hotel.

"We have arranged for headquarters to be here." After a hand print and eye scan I found myself in a well lit by windows room littered with computers. A high back black chair was nestled among them all. A pale hand with long slender fingers appeared and grasped something on the table next tom him. Mr. Wammy stepped to the chair, leaned down to whisper to the occupant, then proceeded to step back tucking his hands behind him, beaming. The chair swiveled around, revealing a man with unruly natural black hair, dark rims under his gunmetal gray eyes. A thumb was pressed to his lips. He was adorning a long white sleeved t shirt, baggy jeans and bare footed.

"Please to meet you Copy," I grimaced at the title. His voice flowed like velvet that made my skin crawl. "I am L."

I only bowed respectfully.

"I am pleased with the progress you made during your stay at Wammy's."

'You mean not quitting no you,' I proposed the idea in my head alone.

"And due to your progress you will be working along side of me. Of course because of some minor defects,"

'Bastard!'

"It is possible that you will be used as a field agent as well."

"I understand sir," I replied mechanically.

'I do hope you are not upset. You care not a Carbon Copy after all."

I never detested another human being so much as I did now.

Watari showed me to my room after apologizing for L's behavior. Assuring him that it wasn't his fault., I set my mind to the unpleasant task of unpacking. I looked over the stained pillow, hit it under my covers and took my place on L's right in a plush leather chair. I assumed my position. Gunmetal gray eyes washed over me.

"I recommend this posture C. It raises your deductions skills by as much as 40%."

"I prefer it my way L," the comment came out snarky. This didn't seem to phase him.

"Very well. While you are under my supervision you will need to adapt an alias. Will Cadence suffice?"

"Yes L."

"Your detective code will be C."

"Yes sir."

He nodded. "Your duties as a successor are to replace me in the event of my death, should it happen. Because of your physical training at Wammy's makes you ideal as a field agent as well. Do not worry. No one will be aware of your affiliation with me. In the event of your death, another replacement will be sent in your place. You are not in the system, nothing to worry about. Do you agree to this?"

I wanted to scream 'no' in order to capture my fading humanity transitioning to become a robot pawn.

"I was ready when I arrived at Wammy's."

"Good. Now you will be asked to provide array of multiple disguises to further camoflauge your affiliation. Watari will take you now."

Mr. Wammy/Watari bowed before signaling ,e to follow him through the sliding doors.

"Thank you L." The detective said nothing but stirred the contents of his cup with a lollipop.

Multiple stores later we arrived back at HQ hours later. L's position hadn't shifted, though he was almost without sweets. Watari lest me, rushing to the kitchen. I stored my purchases and took a much needed hot shower. Dressing in a horizontally black and white shirt and jacket and baggy jeans, I positioned myself on L's right.

"Is there anything you desire C,"

"No sir but thank you though."

"Now that you are here C, lets test your capabilities."

He swerved to face me.

"If an electric train is traveling 80mph west and the wind is blowing 15mph in the opposite direction, which way does the smoke blow?"

"?"


	3. The First Scene

Disclaimer: Anything you may recognize does not belong to me in any form or fashion; however what you do not recognize is mine.

"Checkmate."

Pulling my left leg to me tightly, I watched L's dark eyes scan the game board.

"Impressive," he mumbled releasing his thumb from his lips. Leaning back, he studied me with a blank expression, long, pale boney fingers drummed on his kneecaps.

"I'm going to need you to disguise yourself."

My cornflower blue eyes sought his eyes in question. The thumb made its way back to his lips.

"I have an assignment for you. Of course you will be working along side another agent of mine. I would prefer it if you would change your identity for this."

I nodded and retreated to my room. Shedding my usual attire, I dressed in a ¾ length plum shirt and a pair of knee high black shorts, topping it off with a little pair of black Mary Janes. Comfortable and efficient enough to move in. To further conceal my identity, I dyed my hair a dirty blonde and placed in green contacts.

L held the file up behind him as I emerged from my room.

"You will leave for Los Angeles in a few minuets. When you arrive you will check into your designated hotel and room. Afterwards, you will go to the first murder scene and meet my second agent. She will be aware that you will be there." Turning to face me, he stared.

"I liked you better albino."

"Thanks," I replied sarcastically accompanied with an eye roll.

"Your plane leaves in a few minuets."

'Jerk!'

Despite being jet-lagged, I resisted the urge to collapse on the irresistibly comfortable looking hotel bed and rode my rented motorbike to the scene of the first murder. My eyes instantly sought out the woman in black, her back to me staring straight at the victim's house. She pulled out a phone from the depths of her pockets and dialed a number. Possibly L's. I stepped beside her. Jumping back, literally I might add she had a hand in her jacket, imitating the shape of a gun. Placing my hands up in a sign of surrender I took a step back.

"Relax. I'm Cadence."

"L, I've reached the scene," removing her hand, she grasped mine in a handshake. After hopping the fence, leaving a flabbergasted Naomi behind, I entered the unlocked home of the victim, leaving the door ajar for my companion. He was killed in his room on the second floor, naturally I checked there first. I heard Naomi speaking softly on the phone. She must still be outside. Placing my headphones in, I assumed my thinking position to the hypnotic beats of the American band Tool.

A shadow loomed over me minuets later. Naomi had finally arrived and was looking at me with curiosity.

"Help me think."

She nodded and began to piddle around the room.

"Something that should be here, that isn't …," Naomi mumbled under her breath.

"The occupant?"

I pulled out the crime scene photos, studying them closely. She did the same at the other end of the room.

Believe Bridesmaid, age 44, male.

"If you…look at them right…these marks…do look like letters…sort of," she said rotating the photo in various directions.

"V,C,I,M,V,X,D,3I'S L, that would be much of a message Naomi," I swerved my head to glance at her with my eyes. She was examining the bed closely. Perhaps she found something.

She crouched at the edge of the bed, slowly sticking her hand underneath. An 'eep' sounded from someone, maybe both of us. I scooted on my backside to the other side of the room, faster than I thought possible, while Naomi only jumped back, taking a fighting stance.

"What…no who are you," she roared.

A second hand joined the other, followed by a torso and soon a full man crawled from under the bed.

"Answer me! Who are you?"

Natural jet-black hair in an unruly fashion, a plain baggy long sleeved white shirt, faded blue jeans that hung off his thin frame. He was tall but his hunched over back eluded us how tall he really was. When he lifted his bowed head, bulging dark crimson eyes rimmed with dark circles that might have told countless sleepless nights gazed back at us.

"Please to meet you both," his voice was similar to honey. Sweet and flowed temptingly. His tone was unruffled by our appearances. "Please call me Ryuzaki."

I could have fainted right there.

"Ryuzaki…" Naomi said twisting the black business card between her fingers. Reaching for the said card, I examined it.

"Rue Ryuzaki, correct," I asked.

"Yes Rue Ryuzaki," the man said in the same unruffled tone. His wide eyes stared at us through the dark circles around them, and he nibbled at his thumbnail.

We had moved out of the bedroom into the living room of Believe Bridesmaid's house. We sat opposite of each other on the expensive looking sofas. Ryuzaki was seated with his knees up and his arms wrapped around him. I was in my own position, half of his if you would say.

"According to this," I help up the little black card, "you're a detective?"

"Yes I am."

"You mean," Naomi cut in, "a private detective?"

"No, that term would not be very accurate. I feel the word 'private' carries with it an excess of neurotic egotism…you might say that I am an unprivate detective- a detective without ego."

"I see…"

"It makes sense to me," I shrugged.

"So Ryuzaki…let me ask you again. What exactly were you doing down there?"

"Same as you. Investigating," Ryuzaki, said without the slightest change in his expression.

His black-rimmed eyes never blinked. It was rather unsettling. He continued,

"I was hired by the parents of this house's owner-by Mr. Bridesmaid's parents, and am currently conducting an investigation into the killings. It seems to me that both of you are here for the much the same reason, Misora, Cadence."

"Yes… we are also detectives," Naomi said.

"I cannot tell you who we are working for, but we have been asked to investigate in secret. To find out who killed Believe Bridesmaid, Quarter Queen, and Backyard Bottomslash…"

"Have you? Then we can cooperate!" he said instantly.

"So Ryuzaki, did you find anything under the bed that might prove useful in solving this case? I assume you were looking for anything the killer might have left behind," I asked.

"No nothing of the sort. I heard someone come into the house, so I decided to hind and monitor the situation. After a while it became clear that neither of you were dangerous characters, so I emerged."

"A dangerous character," Naomi questioned.

"Yes. For example, the killer himself coming back to get something he forgot. If that were the case, then what a chance! But apparently my hopes were in vain.

'Liar' I thought. I could practically smell the lie radiating from him.

"However, instead I had the pleasure of meeting the both of you," he eyed me. I looked away finding the off-white wall interesting. "So it wasn't a total write off. This is not a novel or a comic book, so there is no reason for fellow detectives to despise each other. What do you say Misora, Cadence? Will you agree to an exchange of information?"

"No. Thank you for the offer, but we must refuse." I nodded. "We have a duty to keep things secret."

"I'm sure you have your secrets too." His large eyes locked fully on me. I suddenly felt uncomfortable and self-conscience. I kept up the 'uncaring' façade on the outside.

"I don't."

"Of course you do. You're a detective," I said pointedly. Naomi watched our exchange silently.

"Oh? Then I do."

"Flexible."

He tore his eyes away and looked back to Naomi, addressing her.

"But it seems to me that solving this case must take precedence…Very well Misora. How about this: I will provide you with all the information I have in return for nothing."

"Eh…? Uh, I couldn't possibly…"

"Please. Ultimately, it does not matter if I solve the case or if you do. My client's wishes are to see the case solved, and only to see it solved. If either of you posses a sharper mind than my own, then telling you everything will be more effective."

I only stared suspiciously at him. Should we really trust a man that hid under the bed? Feeding us a lie and it did not help that he was rather on the creepy side, yet he reminded me of…L. But his eyes, so familiar…

"You may decide if you wish to give any of your information to me afterward. So, first, there's this," he removed a folded piece of paper from the depths of his jeans. As Naomi took it and unfolded it, I examined it along with her. A crossword puzzle. Grids and clues in a tiny, delicate font.

"This is…"

"Oh? You knew about it Misora?"

"Uh, no…not directly."

"Last month, on the twenty-second of July, this cross-word puzzle was sent to the LAPD by an unknown sender," I cut in. " Apparently, nobody could solve it. But if you were to solve this puzzle, it would give you the address of this house. Presumably it was a sort of warning form the killer to the police and to society in general…"

"A declaration of war, one might say," Ryuzaki cut me off and began to nibble on his thumbnail once more.

"I see. Still…" Naomi said examining the simple piece of paper. I believe she was trying to solve it where she sat.

"You're sure the answer shows this address?"

"Yes." A simultaneous reply. Courtesy of Ryuzaki and myself.

"Feel free to keep it and solve it at your leisure if you doubt me Misora. Either way, the killers that send warnings are generally looking for attention, assuming that they do not have some larger purpose. And the Wara Ningyo and locked room aspects of the case fit that profile. So it seems that there is a very good chance of some other message…or something like a message, being left at the scene. Do you agree ladies?"

He had the same conclusion as L and I. Who was this man?

"Excuse me," Ryuzaki said placing both feet on the ground and headed, still hunched over, to what I believed was the kitchen. I stood as well.

"I'm going back to the scene, would you mind keeping an eye on him," I asked. She nodded. Straightening my clothes, I ascended the stairs quietly.

A/N:

Thank you for being patient with me and my sincerest apologizes for taking so long to update this. I will admit I have been somewhat of a procrastinator. I also have…3 other ideas swarming in my head at the moment. I am not sure if they will go anywhere, I just write as I go. Again sorry for the wait.

I would also like to thank acid-veins for being my first review! : )


	4. The Numerical Message

Disclaimer: Anything that you recognize, I do not own, anything you do not recognize, I do own.

I was staring out of the window when Naomi and Ryuzaki came in. I watched them come in, and when Ryuzaki suddenly dropped down on all fours. Naomi and I shared the same look of genuine surprise.

"What are you waiting for Misora? Join me!"

She shook her head so quickly that it blurred.

"Oh what a shame. Cadence?"

"No."

He shook his head sadly and continued searching the room.

"B-but Ryuzaki," Naomi stuttered, "I don't think there's anything left here to find. I mean, the police already searched it pretty thoroughly…"

"But the police overlooked the crossword puzzle. It would not surprise me at all if they overlooked something else in here," I thought sitting in the middle of the room. It was hard to do so with Ryuzaki crawling much like a spider. An over grown spider.

"If you put it that way," Naomi sulked, "but there's just so little to work with. I wish we had a clue to what we're supposed to be looking for-the room's to empty to just rifle through it at random. And the house is too big."

"A clue…?" Ryuzaki said, pausing mid-crawl. I watched as he slowly bit his thumbnail. The action made him seem thoughtful, but infantile that it made him look equally stupid. He looked at us, still in his position of all fours,

"What do you think Misora, Cadence? When you came in, did you think of anything? Any idea that might help narrow it down?"

"Well…yeah, but…," Naomi faltered. The bright light of epiphany washed over me. I first looked up through my blond bangs at my given partner then to the large bug on the floor.

"The cuts…"

Naomi nodded and began to take charge. She dug in a bag and began to speak.

"Right…Ryuzaki. As thanks for earlier, rather than a complete exchange of information…have a look at this photograph."

"Photograph?" I scoffed at his exaggeration of the word. I watched him make his way back to Naomi in utter horror. Any other normal human being would have either asked the photo to be passes or got up and walked to receive the photo. Not Ryuzaki. He made his way to Naomi, still on all fours and without bothering to turn around. He essentially reversed himself to her, a spectacle that would surely have made a small child cry.

"A picture of the victim," she said handing not recovering from her shocked look. I stared intently at it.

"Well done!"

"Yes?" Naomi and I questioned. We shared a look before turning our attention back to Ryuzaki.

"The news did not mention that the body was cut up like this, which means that this photograph is from the police files. I'm impressed that you were able to get your hands on it. You're obviously no ordinary detective."

"So how did you get a hold of the crossword puzzle," I asked looking at him.

"That would be my duty to keep secrets." He said flippantly turning his dark crimson eyes on me. Observing, it seems.

I am also sure that his reply did not make sense grammatically.

"I will not ask how you obtained this photograph either. But how does this relate to your idea?"

"Yes," she said nodding her head once, "well…I wonder if the message might be on something that isn't in the room anymore, but was in the room at the time. And the most obvious thing that should be here, but isn't…"

"Is the rooms' occupant, Believe Bridesmaid," I stood up quickly.

"Clever," he mumbled in what was assumed to be a thoughtful way.

"And if you look at that picture from the right angle," Naomi exclaimed jerking the photo in directions, "do the wounds look like letters to you? I wondered if it might be some sort of message."

"Oh?"

I watched as he held the picture perfectly straight and his head jerk in every direction. It looked as if he had no bones in his neck what so ever. Much like a contortionist. I sat back down in the middle of the floor, holding my leg to me, with one hand around it and studied the same photograph as Ryuzaki.

"No," we said again in unison. He continued.

"Not letters…" Naomi looked down in defeat.

"No? I thought I was reading too much into it."

"No, no, Misora, I am not denying the entire idea, just a portion of it. These are not letters, but…"

"Roman Numerals," I whispered looking back at them. "I is one, II is two, III is three, IV is four, V is five, VI is six, VII is seven, VIII is eight, IX is nine, X is ten, L is fifty, C is one hundred, D is five hundred and M is one thousand."

"So these wounds can be read as 16,59,1423,159,13,7,582,724,1001,40,51, and 31."

I was amazed at Ryuzaki's ability to read the numbers so quickly, granted if he was correct about what numbers coincided with the cuts.

"It's just a photograph," he continued, "so I might not be reading them correctly, but there's an eighty percent chance I'm right."

"Percent," Naomi asked. I had opened my mouth to ask the same thing, she however cut me off, closing my mouth. Realization struck me.

"I'm afraid that doesn't change the situation." I didn't want to be the buzz kill of the party, "Unless we can figure out what those numbers are supposed to mean, it would be dangerous to assume they are a message from the killer. Perhaps they are simply misdirection."

I watched as their faces fell the slightest bit.

"Excuse me Ryuzaki, Cadence," Misora said taking a step back to the door.

"For what," he looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

"I need to fix my make-up."

And with that, she rushed out of the room. I knew that it was a bogus excuse. I'm sure Ryuzaki knew it too.

We were alone in the room. It was eerie. His red eyes were fixated on the bookshelf in front of him. I took this moment to study him.

He reminded me of L almost down to a T. Even his posture greatly resembled my mentors. Except the eyes. His eyes were the loudest feature of his person. Crimson eyes that were cold and calculating. His thumb was placed gently on his full bottom lip. His look of utter familiarity plagued me. As I studied him, I had not noticed that his eyes had shifted from the bookcase to my own. I felt his stare, and the blood creeping up my neck, into my cheeks. Damn it caught in the act. Switching my gaze to the shelf of books, I willed the blood somewhere else besides my face.

"I assume that you and Misora are working for the same agency, per say."

"It isn't safe to assume things."

"Oh?"

"You make an ass out of you and me."

He deadpanned, I know he did. It was a stupid, corny and an old joke.

Finally, the itching feeling of exploring eyes left my person. Relaxing just a little, I pulled my leg tighter, resting my chin on it. Floorboards creaked with the sudden movement of Ryuzaki. I watched him glide his feet along the carpet, going left to the bathroom. I sighed.

Two sets of feet appeared, and then Naomi and Ryuzaki entered the room. Naomi looked at me with a cocked eyebrow. Ryuzaki once again dropped on all fours.

"Over here," he scuttled next to me. I caught a faint whiff of something sweet it smelled like…

"You said you found something new?"

Damn you Naomi for interrupting my thoughts.

"Yes," he spoke up beside me. That scent drifted to my nostrils. Focus C…

"Something new-no, let us be bold. I have uncovered an important fact."

I searched the bookcase carefully, knowing that the 'important fact' had to be there. Closely…found it.

"So you found a clue of some kind on the bookshelf, you mean?"

"Look here," I pointed to the right side of the self, the second from the bottom. There sat eleven volumes of the manga, Akazukin Chacha.

Naomi slowly shook her head.

"What about it?"

"I love this manga," Ryuzaki said with slight amazement.

"You do?"

"I do."

I rolled my eyes heavily at their exchange. I was about to speak, but Ryuzaki beat me to it.

"You're Nikkei, aren't you?"

"Nikkei…? My parents are both form Japan. My passport's American now, but I lived in Japan until after high school…"

"So you must know this manga. Min Ayahana-sensei's legendary creation. I read every issue as it were serialized. Shiine is so adorable! I liked the anime just as much as the manga. Love and courage and hope-Holy Up"

"Ryuzaki," I cut in forcefully. There eyes turned to me. His emotionless, hers in fear.

"Are you going to go on like this for a while?"

"I can wait in the other roo…"

"Why would you do that when I'm talking to you?" His genuine curiosity in the question caught me off guard.

"Er, um…I mean, I like Akazukin Chacha too. I watched the anime. I also experienced the love, courage, hope and Holy Up."

I rolled my eyes. It was not very great.

"Good. You two can discuss the pleasures offered by the anime in detail on some other occasion but for the moment, look here."

"Hunh…"Misora looked obediently.

"Notice anything," again with the unison.

"I don't see anything…something about one of the comics?"

"No." Our eyes locked on each other. Maybe great minds really do think alike, a lot alike.

"No? What do you mean…" I head the frustration clearly in her voice.

"Not one of these. Something that should be here, but isn't Naomi."

"Look closely Misora. They aren't all here. Volumes four and nine are missing."

"Akazukin Chacha ran for thirteen volumes. Not eleven." Ryuzaki nodded beside me.

"Hmm…right. But…so what? You mean the killer took those two volumes with him. It's certainly a possibility, but it seems equally likely they were missing in the first place. Maybe he planned to pick them up soon. Not everyone reads the manga in order, you know. I mean, he seems to have stopped halfway through the Dickwood series, up here…"

"Impossible," he was so adamant about it. "No one on earth would ever skip two volumes in the middle of Akazukin Chacha. I am absolutely sure this fact would pass muster in court."

Had he ever been to court?

"Or at least, if the members of the jury knew much about Japanese comics."

"What a bias jury."

Naomi nodded her head in agreement with me.

"The killer had obviously taken them," he blatantly ignored me. I argued back.

"But you have no proof of that at all Ryuzaki."

"It's equally possible he just loaned them to a friend."

Horror stuck his face after Naomi said that. I could see in her eyes that it seemed as if she wanted to take it back.

"Akazukin Chacha?" You wouldn't even loan it to your parents! You'd tell them to buy their own! The only possible explanation is that the killer took them away!" he sounded so forceful. His voice was loud in my ear. Sadly, he didn't stop there.

"Furthermore, no one on earth would ever want to read only volumes four and nine-I'd bet my jam on it!"

Jam? When did he eat jam?

"If you're referring to the jam you were eating earlier, a jar of that only goes for around five bucks." Funny Naomi, way to go. But jam? I looked over my shoulder, cocking a blonde eyebrow. She shook her head, rolling her eyes.

"So as it follows, that when the killer removed those two volumes from the room he had some other, completely unrelated reason for doing so."

"…Since it is true that those two volumes are missing, ignoring logic and possibility for the moment and following along with this hypothetical…it's still strange, isn't it? I mean, Ryuzaki, this bookshelf…"

"Was packed full. So tightly that removing a book from it had been rather difficult. Ryuzaki," I cocked my head in his direction. "Do you know how many pages there are in volumes four and nine?"

"I do. 192 pages and 184 pages."

"So 376 pages." My eyes scanned the shelves looking for a book that would have the same pages. Naomi's finger entered my vision, grabbing the book that captured my attention. Insufficient Relaxation by Permit Winter. She flipped to the last page, confirming that it was, indeed, 376 pages. I reached my hand up for the book. The weight of the leather bound literature caused my hand to drop the slightest. I wasn't expecting it to be that heavy. I flipped though it slowly, looking for clues that may have been written in the margins, or words or passages that may have been circled or highlighted. After five minuets of nothing, I closed it with a 'thud'. A hand covered by an oversized white long sleeved shirt materialized beside me. I fought the urge to jump. He just wanted the book. Gripping it with his forefinger and thumb, his crimson orbs scanned it thoughtfully, and quickly.

"I see," he mumbled.

"Eh? You found something?"

Twisting my head quick enough to get whiplash, I stared at him.

"No there is absolutely nothing here." I deadpanned. I could have told him that. "Don't look at me like that. I swear, I'm not joking. This is just an ordinary entertainment novel, not a message, or even a metaphor like the Wara Ningyo. And of course, there are no letters of any kind hidden between the pages, nor anything scribbled in the margins."

"Yes there was nothing in the margins but page numbers."

"Page numbers…" Naomi mumbled. A thought had struck her.

"Assuming that the cuts on the victim's chest were numbers, what did they say?"

"16,59,1423,159,13,7,582,724,1001,40,51, and 31."

"Good memory," I whispered to myself.

"What about them?"

"I was just wondering if they were pointing at the pages in this book but…two of the numbers were four digits. The book's only 376 pages long. They don't match."

"Yes…no, Naomi what if it wraps around? For example, 476 could be seen as 376 plus one hundred, and indicate page 100."

"…Meaning what?"

"I don't know. But let's try it out…16 is easy, page 16. 59..."

He narrowed his dark rimmed eyes. He wasn't even looking at the book. Was his mind really working that fast? While he was doing that, I reached down gently and took the book, while also producing a pen and paper from my pocket. Never know when you might be able to use it. I did the theory, writing the letters down. Naomi crouched down beside me. We came up with Q-U-T-R-T-E-A-E-T-E-E-N.

"Very similar to the seconds victim's name, don't you think?" I double-checked the name in the second file.

"I suppose…There is a vague resemblance… Quarter Queen…only four letters are different."

"Yes. However," Ryuzaki said reluctantly, "four letters out of twelve is too many. One third of them are wrong. If even one letter is different, the entire theory falls apart. Unless it matches perfectly, it's not worth calling a message. I thought there might be something there, but it may well be just a coincidence…Still ladies…if it doesn't match, it doesn't match. We were very close, but…"

"No Ryuzaki," I said looking back in the book. "Think about it. All four wrong numbers match up with the numbers over 376. They're all numbers we had to wrap around."

With the new modification to our theory, instead of Qutr tea teen we got Quarter Queen, the name of the second victim.

"Nice work," Ryuzaki said, unruffled. "Very good deduction. I would have never thought of it."

I stared incredulously at him.

"That was brilliant work of him don't you think? Despite his rather creepy appearance, you can't deny that he was good." Naomi babbled as we made our way down the street. I nodded thoughtfully.

"Maybe to brilliant. Did you notice how he gave us the credit, yet it was him that pointed us in the right direction."

"You did a great part as well."

"What did you mean by that jam?"

"You're not going to believe this. While you were investigating in the room, he removed a jar of jam from the fridge and ate it with his fingers. I think it was strawberry."

My feet suddenly became heavy, unwilling to move. Naomi looked over her should to me.

"Something wrong Cadence?"

"Are you sure it was strawberry," there was a slight waver to my voice. I hope she didn't hear it.

"Yeah. He just ate it with his fingers. Then after a few handfuls of it, he put it up to his face and proceeded to drink it. It reminded me of pooh bear. But he was neither cute nor yellow. It fact, I'd say it was rather disturbing."

"B," I whispered softly. I could feel my insides tightening up, as if someone had stuck there hand inside and grabbed a hold of my organs. My throat closed.

"Are you ok Cadence?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice what so ever.

"I'll….I'll see you tomorrow Naomi." I walked quickly ahead and turned in the direction of my hotel, leaving Naomi behind confused. Tears prickled at the corner of my eyes, as I willed them all away.

This was a long chapter, well longer then my others. Just too clear things up, if you were confused, because I'm not big on the whole he said, she said, every few lines in a conversation. If Naomi is said, it's C and if it Misora, its B.

Thank you for those tuning in. : )  
>Also...feedback is nice...just wanted to throw that in there. .<p> 


	5. The Second Victim

Disclaimer: what you do recognize, I do not own, what you do not, I do.  
>I am sorry I have not posted in a little bit; I have been busy with my other story. Forgive me?<p>

I waited patiently outside the dorms for Naomi to arrive. Ryuzaki had not shown either, unless he was already inside. Glancing at my wristwatch for the umpteenth hundred time in the last ten minuets or so, I shook my head and continued into the second victims' room. Ryuzaki was sitting in the middle of the room, his back to the door. As I stepped inside, his head swiveled, locking his red eyes on me.

"Hello C."

The doorknob dug uncomfortably in my back because I pressed my self so hard into it. I felt a little ball of fear sneaking along the back of my throat.

"What did you call me?" I was surprised at how even my voice sounded despite my insides puckering.

"C. It's short for Cadence. I'm sorry if I offended you in any way."

I wanted to relax visibly.

"Oh. I see. Please, just call me Cadence."

He nodded before going over to the dresser. I started my search under the bed. It was rather organized, only containing the shoes of the victim and her parent. The door opened, Naomi walked in immediately stopping dead in her tracks. I followed her gaze and bit my tongue trying not to laugh. Ryuzaki looked less like a detective investigating than a pedophile stealing panties. Talk about perfect timing.

"We're talking a single mother here, right? Who has now moved back in with her parents? It must have been devastating…"

"I agree Naomi. These apartments were built for college students, intended to house only one, so a young girl and her mother living here attracted a fair amount of attention. I asked about a little this morning before coming in and heard many interesting things. But most of them were already in the police report. The mother was out of town at the time of the murders, and the body was discovered by a collage girl who lived next door. The mother first saw her daughter's body in the morgue."

Naomi inspected the walls as I recapped.

"Something wrong Misora?"

"Yes…yesterday we decoded the message the killer left at the first scene of the first murder, but the Wara Ningyo and the locked room remains mysteries."

"Yes," Ryuzaki said closing the door and dropping down to all fours again.

It amazed how he was still able to do this. Two people lived in this room, but he moved around the room in his odd position.

"But Misora, I don't think it's worth wasting much time on the locked room issue. This is not a mystery novel-realistically speaking, it's quite possible that he simply used a spare key. There are no key's that can't be duplicated."

"True enough, but do you really think this killer would do something so prosaic? There was no real need to create a locked room in the first place. But he did anyway," I emphasized, "In which case, it might be a kind of puzzle."

"Puzzle?"

I nodded. "Or a game of some kind."

"Yes…yes, maybe…"Naomi and I turned to study the lock. It was a generic lock, simply made- very easy to break in when the house was empty by drilling through the door and turning the latch from inside (known as a thumb turn lock) but obviously there had been no holes in the door at any of the three scenes.

"What would you do, Ryuzaki," Naomi tuned to him, "if you were trying to lock it from the outside?"

"Use a key."

"No, not like that…if you had lost the key."

"Use a spare key."

"No, not like that that…you don't have a spare key either."

"Then I wouldn't lock it."

"Not that he's wrong," I said shrugging.

Naomi reached out and shook the door, speaking as she did so.

"If this were a mystery novel…locked rooms are always created by a trick, like with a needle and thread, or…I mean, we call it a locked room, but these are just ordinary rooms, so they've got plenty of gaps and chinks around the frame. String could get under it easily…run a bit of string under the door, and tie it to the edge of the latch, and pull it…"

"Impossible," she frowned when I said this. "The gap isn't that big, and the angle would kill the force applied. You could try it out, but too much of the string would be pressed against the door. Before you could even turn the latch, all the power you put into it would be eaten up pulling against the edge of the door. Pulling the door towards you."

"Yes Cadence but a lock this simple doesn't leave much room for a trick. The doors in the detective novels usually have much more complicated ones."

"There are many ways to create a locked room Ryuzaki. And we can't rule out the possibility that the killer had a key. More important Ryuzaki, Naomi, is the question of why the killer made the locked room. He had no need to make one, but he did so anyway. If he made a puzzle, why did he do it?"

"As a game. For fun."

"Why?"

Misora leaned against the wall and took out some photographs out of her bag. I stood beside here and Ryuzaki was still crawling around on the floor.

Pictures of the second victim killed in this room- a young blonde girl, wearing glasses, lying on her face. Looking closely, her head had been dented in the shape of the weapon, and both of her eyes had been poked out. They eyes had been crushed after death- like the cuts on Believe Bridesmaid's chest, this mutilation of the corpse, with no relation to the cause of death.

"Killing a child…how horrible," Naomi whispered.

"Killing an adult is also horrible Naomi."

"Killing children or adults-equally horrible," Ryuzaki said, his tone indifferent.

"Ryuzaki…" Naomi sounded as though she were going to scold him for saying something so crass.

"I've checked everything once," he said standing up rubbing his hands on his jeans. Apparently, he was at least aware that crawling around on the floor could make his hands dirty. "But I didn't find any money."

"You were looking for money?"

"No, just in case," he assured me. "One possibility is that he killer was after money, but in that case, the second victim is significantly more impoverished than the first and third victims. There was a chance they were hiding something, but apparently not. Let us take a break. Would you ladies like some coffee?"

"Sure."

"One moment," Ryuzaki said heading for the kitchen. We waited in our thoughts for him to return. He did so in a matter of a few minuets.

"Here you are."

He handed one to Naomi, another to her right and one opposite of her, then pulled out the chair and assumed the sitting position he had demonstrated the day before. Naomi took a sip of her coffee.

"Augh!" she yelled spitting it out. "Cough…hack…urrghhh…"

"Something wrong Naomi?" I took a sip of my coffee, finding it perfect.

"Once something has entered your mouth, Misora, it should never be spit out like that. And those terrible moans do nothing for your image, either. You are quite beautiful, so you should try to present yourself accordingly."

"M-murderously sweet…poisonous!"

"Not poison. Sugar."

She looked as if I were crazy while I sipped my own cup.

"It's perfect," I said scooting the cup to her. Violently shaking her head, I think she was afraid that I was going to feed her another cup of sugar coffee.

"I feel like I drank dirt."

"But dirt is not this sweet."

"Sweet dirt then Naomi? Who has heard of such a thing?"

She held her cup up before putting it back down on the table with a thud.

"Whew…coffee always picks me up," Ryuzaki put his cup down. "Now then, to business."

"Go ahead Ryuzaki."

"About the missing link."

"Have you figured something out," I asked pushing away my own finished cup.

"It seems the killer was definitely not after money…but last night, after I left your company, I noticed something interesting. A connection between the victims that nobody seems to have picked up on."

"What?" Naomi and I asked in unison.

"Their initials. All three victims have rather unique initials. Believe Bridesmaid, Quarter Queen, and Backyard Bottomslash. B.B., Q.Q., B.B. Both their first and last names begin with the same letter…what is it Cadence?"

"Nothing…"

"Ryuzaki…do you know how many people there are with alliterative initials in the world? In Los Angeles?"

"There's only twenty-six letters in the alphabet, which means by a very rough calculation about one in twenty-six people has a name like that. Not worth calling a connection." I've noticed that I have become the bearer of bad news often.

"Oh? And I thought I was on to something…" Ryuzaki looked dejected. He appeared to be sulking.

"I mean, you yourself are Rue Ryuzaki-R.R."

"Oh I hadn't noticed."

"This is pointless," I groaned.

"Since my deductions have come to a naught, do you have any good ideas?"

"No not really. I'm in the same boat as you… can't think of any real course of action except looking for another message, like we did yesterday. I feel like I'm dancing on the killer's palms, which irritates the hell out of me, but…"

"Then let us dance," I said tracing circles on the tabletop. "Playing the enemy's game until he relaxes and lets a hint drop is perfectly good strategy. So if there is a message here, then where?""Well, we can guess the contents. Presumably, the message has the third victim's name, Backyard Bottomslash, or her address. The crossword puzzle lead to the first case, the book pages led to the second case, so what's here that will lead us to the third case?"


	6. The Same Shape

Disclaimer: I do not own anything that you recognize associated with Death Note. I do own what ever is not and used in this fanfic.

* * *

><p>"Something that should be here that isn't," Naomi mumbled.<p>

Ryuzaki had described it that way. Was there something like that here? Something that should be here, but wasn't? Something that should be here but isn't here was starting to sound like a linguistic Möbius strip.

"So," Ryuzaki said. "If whatever we find will simply point us to the third victim, then perhaps it would be more effective if we skipped this scene and went right to the third one. After all, our goal is to prevent the fourth murder as well as solve the case."

"Yeah," Naomi muttered.

"The third murder has already happened," I said, "and we can't prevent that, but there is a chance that we can stop the fourth. Rather than waste time looking for a message we already know what it says, it would be far more constructive to look for a message leading to the fourth victim."

"But that just feels so submissive…like we're following his lead," Naomi whined. "I mean we might miss an important clue to his identity if we skip this room. Even if there isn't some clean evidence, we might get a feeling or a hunch that will help us out later. I agree that preventing the fourth murder is important, but if we focus on that too much, we'll lose the chance to get aggressive, to take control of the situation."

"Don't worry," Ryuzaki muttered. "I'm a top."

"A top," I asked quirking an eyebrow.

"An aggressive top. I have never once been submissive. One of the few things I can boast about. I have never even been submissive to a traffic signal."

"You really should," Naomi said.

He shook his head.

"Never."

I mumbled under my breath rolling my eyes, "adamant."

"Preventing the fourth murder should lead us directly to the identifying and arresting the killer," Ryuzaki continued with the issue at hand. "This is what my clients want, more that anything. However, I see your point as well, Misora. I'm already finished checking the room over, so while you are doing that, I would like to think about the third murder. Do you mind if I look at the file you showed me yesterday once more?"

"Work from different angles? Fine by me…"

I could tell that she was not to keen on doing this. However, she removed the file and slid it across the table to Ryuzaki.

"But there haven't been any breakthroughs," I voiced. "The contents are the same as yesterday."

"Yes I know. But there were a few things I wanted to double check...this is a horrible picture isn't it?"

He slid the photo of the third victim to us to inspect. It was a horrible picture indeed.

The third victim, Backyard Bottomslash was lying on her back, and the left arm and right leg had been chopped off at the root. Blood was everywhere.

"They found the right leg abandoned in the bathroom, but they still have no idea where the left arm is…obviously, the killer took it with him. But why?"

"That question again? But Cadence, isn't that another example of something that should be there, but isn't? In this case, the victim's left arm."

"The killer needed to cut off the arm…but he did not bring the right leg with him. He just tossed it into the bathroom. What does that mean?"

"Either way, we're not going over there this afternoon…but I'd like to spend a few hours here first."

"That sounds fine," Ryuzaki cut in. "Oh, yeah, there was a photo album belonging to the victim in the cabinet. Probably worth checking out. You might be able to find something about the victim's personality or her friends…"

"Okay," Naomi nodded.

"I'll do that," I volunteered. Ryuzaki turned his attention to the third crime scene files and Naomi ran off, probably to the bathroom. I sat next to a shelf, in my usually position, with the photo album Ryuzaki recommended. Minutes later, Naomi burst into the room, startling both Ryuzaki and I.

"What's wrong?" we asked simultaneously. It had become a habit almost that no one brought it up anymore.

"The picture!"

"Huh?"

"The photograph," she repeated.

"You mean the one from the third crime scene," I asked. Ryuzaki slid it to her. We watched as she pulled the other two photos out of her bag. Relinquishing my spot on the floor, I sat next to her, examining the photos as well.

"Notice anything," she asked somewhat proudly.

"What," Ryuzaki asked.

"Anything about these photographs strike you as unnatural?"

"…They're all dead," he guessed.

"Being dead is not unnatural," I scolded.

"How philosophic," he said bored, glancing at me from the corner of his eyes. Now those were unnatural.

"Be serious you two! Look- the bodies are in different positions. Believe Bridesmaid in on his back, Quarter Queen is on her front, and Backyard Bottomslash is on her back. Back, front, back."

"…And you see a pattern in this? Connecting it to the nine days, four days, and nine days between the murders? Meaning that tomorrow the fourth victim will be found lying on her front," Ryuzaki mused.

"No, not at all. I mean, that might be true, but…I was thinking of a different possibility. In other words_, the very fact that Quarter Queen's corpse was left lying on her front is itself unnatural."_

We were speechless. It made sense really. I looked at our unprivate detective, then to Naomi. Apparently, she did not like his reaction.

"Let me think a minute," she said sitting down next to him.

"Misora, when thinking, I recommend this posture."

"…this posture?"

I wanted to laugh at her.

"Seriously, it raises deductive ability by forty percent. You must try it."

"No, I…um…well…okay."

The urge to laugh grew as she stumbled over her words but assumed the position anyway.

"Well Naomi? You mean Quarter Queen being on her front is a message from the killer? Pointing to the third victim…"

"No, not a message," she shook her thoughtfully. "This is the missing link. An extension of what was said about their initials."

Two people sitting weirdly explaining weird bits of deduction was a scene of overwhelming weirdosity. Naomi pointed to each of the pictures as she spoke,

"The victims' initials-B.B., Q.Q., B.B. having both initials be the same isn't enough to be a missing link, but…both the first and the third victim have the same initials.- B.B. If the second victim's initials were B.B. instead of Q.Q., then that would be a missing link, right?"

"By simple arithmetic, twenty-six times twenty-six equals one in 676 people. Moving from matching initials to only one letter narrowed the odds by that much…and given how rare names begin with B were, the actual number was even lower."

"An interesting theory. But Misora, the second victim's name is Quarter Queen, and her initials are Q.Q. Are you implying that perhaps she was killed by mistake? That the killer was aiming for someone with the initials B.B. and accidentally killed a Q.Q. instead?"

"What are you talking about? The message at the first scene clearly said Quarter Queen. There is no mistake there." I said.

"Oh, right. I forgot."

"Had you really?" I asked sarcastically. He ignored me.

"Nine days, four days, nine days. B.B., Q.Q., B.B. Back, front, back. It's certainly possible to see this as alternating, like you suggested, and I certainly considered the idea, but… the killer's exacting approach to things makes that seem unlikely. Doesn't suit his personality. People that anal usually behave more coherently…"

"But Naomi, the murder methods- strangulation, blunt force trauma, stabbing…they don't show any kind of consistency."

"Except," she emphasized, "that they're consistently different. He is painstakingly trying something new every time. But by alternating is different from varied. Which is why when I was looking in the mirror a moment ago, it hit me- B and Q are shaped the same."

"B and Q? They're completely different," Ryuzaki exclaimed.

"As capital letters. But what about lower case?" Naomi said, drawing the letters on the table with her fingertip. Over and over. b and q.

"Exactly the same shape. Just the other way around," I nodded thoughtfully.

"So that's why she's face down," Ryuzaki asked.

"Exactly. A rough estimate of one and 676 people have initials B.B., sp if we take that as the missing link, then the killer must have had a lot of trouble finding victims. One was easy though, but two, three, even four…even more so. He had no choice but to use a Q.Q. instead."

"I agree with everything except that last sentence," I watched as my words brought confusion over her face. "I don't believe that it would be easier to find someone with the initials Q.Q. that it would be to find someone else with B.B. Even if it was, I think it's better to view the replacement as part of a puzzle design for the investigation team. If they were all B.B. right from the start, the missing link would have been too obvious. But this is only supposition. No more than a thirty percent possibility."

"Thirty percent," she mumbled.

I nodded. "Annoyingly low."

"But why?"

"According to your theory," Ryuzaki cut in causing us to turn towards him. "Your conclusion is that all of that tells us why Quarter Queen was found lying face down. Face down led you to reverse theory and to b and q…but this progression doesn't work logically, Misora."

"Why not," she repeated.

"Lower case," I said.

"Initials are always capital letters," Ryuzaki filled in.

"Oh. And I thought I was on to something," Naomi buried her face in her knees.

"Come now Misora. Don't be so disappointed."

"Frankly, I'm glad that your theory was wrong Naomi. If Quarter Queen had been killed as a substitute…that's a horrible reason for a child in her teens to die."

"Yeah…if you put it that way," Naomi sulked. I watched as her eyes changed from defeat to thoughtful then to anger.

"No," she mumbled. "_In this case_-lower case is perfect." Her voice shook with anger. "_That's why the killer chose a child."_

"_Because she was a child-lower case. And that's why she was face down-upside down_," I exclaimed jumping up.


End file.
